Torchwood 4
by ShamelessOCcentricity
Summary: Alternate Series 4. Torchwood falls at the end of Series 3, only to fall to a brilliant young American woman-Jack's daughter. Gwen is gone, but Jack is back to help his daughter and her team. Chapter 11: "Don't boss Hunter around unless you know the entire plan, which I can assure you only one person knows, and that's me."
1. Out With The Old

_Torchwood has fallen. The Hub is gone. Cardiff is at risk of alien attack. Weevils are running rampant. Gwen is adjusted to normal life. Jack is missing, wracked with grief and guilt over the death of Ianto._

_But life always goes on._

_And more importantly, Torchwood always goes on._

_When Dr. Owen Harper opened the Rift, one of the widespread effects was to rip another hole in time and space on the East Coast of the United States, in the rather small Chesapeake Bay. This Sub-Rift is nothing as major as the one in Cardiff, but enough to draw UNIT there like flies to a light._

_They started their own group, monitoring the Sub Rift, with a team of UNIT experts staffing it._

_Torchwood 3 has fallen, but UNIT hasn't been idle. After months of negotiating and reconstruction, a new Torchwood base has risen in the middle of Cardiff._

_And at its head, an enigmatic American._

**-.-.-CARDIFF-.-.-**

"Who the hell are you?" Rhys said harshly, keeping the door only opened a crack.

An American woman was standing on his doorstep, having just requested to speak to Gwen Cooper Williams. Her long hair was a dark blonde, her eyes grey, and she was wearing a military jacket, hands in her pockets, a gun at her hip.

The young woman rolled her eyes, unperturbed. "Pleasure to meet you too, Rhys Williams."

"She's nine months pregnant—I'm not letting a strange American into our flat!"

"Rhys, relax, I'm not made of glass," Gwen said, appearing in the doorway behind her husband. She rested a hand on his arm, and he opened the door further so Gwen could see the visitor.

"Good thing, too," The woman said seriously. "You inevitably punching me would hurt a lot more if you were made of glass."

"Why would I punch you?" Gwen's voice was puzzled.

"I'm Professor Rosabel Stalon—the new head of Torchwood 4."

Gwen lunged for her throat.

X-x-X-x-X

"I thought you'd punch me, not try to throttle me." Rosabel said, rubbing her throat ruefully. "You're fast, especially for a pregnant woman."

Gwen bit her lip. "Yeah, um, sorry about that. Pregnancy hormones are hell."

"I sort of deserved it. I probably should've sent an email, broke it to you carefully, but we need to start putting things back together, and I had a feeling I wouldn't even get to speak to you if I didn't use the element of surprise."

"That's manipulation, right there." Rhys hissed.

"Yep."

"Look, I'm _pregnant_, I'm not coming back to Torchwood."

"Oh, God, no. I wouldn't ask you to. I just need you to log into the Torchwood software so we can update it. After that, we won't bother you again. Maybe send a basket on the holidays."

"You don't have to help them," Rhys urged.

"Yes, I do." Gwen said. She looked up at Rosabel. "I'll do it."

"Much obliged," Rosabel said seriously.

X-x-X-x-X

The new Torchwood 4 facility was a _huge_ warehouse, 2000 square metres.

The main room was neat, neater than the Hub had ever been, but the walls were lined with screens and dry erase boards and cork boards, giving it a jumbled look, and there was a huge black desk covered in papers and laptops.

"Um, just grab a laptop." Rosabel said, clearing off the table quickly.

A harassed looking young woman with brown hair thrown into a messy bun swept in. She glanced at Gwen. "Oh, old Torchwood op? Hi, I'm Marissa, no time to chat." She turned to Rosabel. "Rose, weevils have been sighted on a farm northeast of here."

"Did you intercept the police?" Rosabel asked briskly.

"Yeah, they're not happy, but they're safe. I have Hunter on his way over with Anne."

"Where's Annabel?"

"Archives—I assigned her to the project you asked me about."

"Does she know why?"

"She thinks she does."

Rosabel nodded her thanks. "Good. How's the Rift?"

Gwen cleared her throat. "I've logged in." She spun the laptop around.

"Thank you. Marissa?"

Marissa was already putting on a pair of reading glasses and dragging the computer towards her.

"I'm accessing it presently."

"So, what's with you guys? Are all five of you Americans?"

"Yes. Marissa and I worked together in UNIT—they're much more recent additions. We'll be hiring more. Locals, I expect."

"Really? More than five?" Gwen said.

"Ideally, we'd have sixteen, with twelve people working at all times." Rosabel shrugged. "Harder than it sounds."

"Will UNIT have control over Torchwood?"

Rosabel laughed at that. "No, Gwen. UNIT remembers the part it played in the almost-end-of-the-world. They're not so cocky now. Torchwood is all mine."

"Mwahaha." Marissa said drily. Then she pressed the return key and sat back. "And I'm in!"

There was a quiet humming, and then a blue light washed over the room, radiating from the huge Rift Machine in the centre of the room, a brand new shiny contraption.

"Well, Gwen, say hello to Torchwood 4."


	2. In With The New

-.-.-**TEL AVIV**-.-.-

William grabbed a beer and his gun. Probably not the best combination, but he was a dead man anyway—one with nothing to lose and a death sentence on his head, which was probably an even more dangerous combination. There wasn't much left in his life worth living or fighting for. Didn't mean he wouldn't go out fighting, though. He intended to fight tooth and nail (or bullet and blade) to stay alive as long as he could.

"Well, Ben, I'm thoroughly fucked." He informed the cat sitting on the couch as he flopped down beside it.

The cat jumped up, looking affronted at the intrusion. "Meow?"

"Thanks for your insight."

"Talking to a cat?" A woman's voice said. "New low, I think."

His head jerked up. Leaning on the doorframe like she owned the place was an attractive blonde woman. Her accent sounded mildly British, but mostly just good old American—though she was good with the Arabic.

Her mouth had just the slightest upward curve, and her calm grey eyes were reassuring as she flipped open a file. "William Blumenthal, first generation Israeli-American. Parents and grandparents mercenaries, sort of a family thing—great uncle runs a mercenary service. Joined at fifteen along with girlfriend Madison Hayes, both moved to Israel. Quit after being forced to kill her. Did I miss anything?"

"The price on my head," He offered.

She grinned. "4000 shekels, which translates to roughly a thousand dollars. You're dead, William Blumenthal. Unless," Here, the woman paused and appraised him.

"I'm not going to say it." He snapped.

Laughing ruefully, she said, "Fine! You're dead unless you accept my job offer."

"I'm done with being a mercenary."

"Which is why you're a candidate—I would never hire a mercenary."

"If you don't want a mercenary, why would you come to _me_?" He said, scoffing. "I'm the best—at being an assassin-for-hire."

"I need a field agent, actually. I'm the head of a team in Cardiff, Wales—we're not the government, or the police. We're a lot more. It's called Torchwood. I'm sure you saw all those children several months ago, all talking in unison?"

"Yeah, when the aliens took over, or so they say."

"The last Torchwood team fought the 456 off. We're Earth's first, best, and last defence against hostile aliens, which generally fall through the huge gap in time and space and right into Cardiff."

William scanned her face for signs of lying.

There were none.

"Do you believe me?"

"Yep." He said, switching to English.

Her mouth was definitely twitching upwards now. She switched too. "Any questions?"

"Where to start?" He joked. "How about, can Ben come?"

"He can stay in the Hub, if he wants."

"Will they be able to find me?"

"I'll delete any trace of you. It'd be like trying to find a ghost that never lived."

That sounded like a pretty good deal, actually.

"What's your story?"

"Me? Oh, nothing as exciting as mercenaries and tragic romance." She said vaguely.

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"When do I start?"

Professor Rosabel Stalon beamed.

-.-.-**PARIS**-.-.-

"Your usual?" The bartender asked.

"Please," Peter said, distracted by the blonde woman sitting next to his usual seat, chasing a cherry across the bottom of a glass with a slim straw, face shadowed. "Bad night?" He asked politely.

She glanced up, and replied in equally perfect French, "Can we switch to English? I've got a headache from speaking Arabic yesterday."

"Why were you speaking Arabic?" He replied coolly, in English.

"I travelled to Israel for business."

"Is that why you're in France?"

"Yes." She said. "It's also why I'm drinking whiskey. My new recruit is a talker—he was still discoursing on advanced weaponry when I put him on the plane back to Cardiff."

He was rather taken aback. She seemed to be talking about the military, but the details were wrong. Most people recruiting for the military didn't do much chattering with civilians—and she wasn't drunk. He should know, with his military father, who had quite the fondness for drink himself. And her deportment wasn't right for a military woman.

"What line of work are you in, precisely?" He asked as the bartender set the vodka soda on the bar.

"Ah, the brilliant psychologist, deducing away. Deduce this: I hunt and fight hostile aliens."

There was not even the tiniest tic. Her eyes were steady, not blinking. She didn't shift, there wasn't the tiniest hint of sarcasm, and there was even a trace of a self-deprecating "yeah, I can't believe it either". And she knew who he was.

"Delusions," He said firmly.

"Really?" She said, shaking her head as she opened a briefcase and took out a file. "I expected better from a PhD—Dr. Peter Walker, psychologist, specialist in PTSD, spent two years in Oxford England. Grew up in Rhodes. Abusive father, no steady relationships on record despite being 26, extraordinarily high IQ."

"So you're what, CIA?"

"Nope."

"Alright, so what are you? Actually, who are you?"

She grinned. "Don't you buy a girl a drink before you ask personal questions?"

"Fine." He turned to the bartender. "Whiskey sour."

"Aw, thanks, sweetheart." She said.

He turned to face her, scowling. "Who do you work for?"

"Myself. I'm head of a group called Torchwood. Above the government, beyond the police—we're the fourth generation. It was set up in Scotland by Queen Victoria."

"And why are you telling me?"

She picked up the new whiskey sour and smirked. "If you don't join, you'll forget this entire conversation ever happened. I have a drug known as Retcon, which will wipe your memory."

"Why do you want me?"

"Do you know how many people have gone absolutely insane working for Torchwood? Too many. I need a PTSD councillor, someone who's in the know. You wouldn't be in danger. And the pay is phenomenal."

He glanced down at his second hand suit. "Where would I be working, exactly?"

She sounded distinctly American, and he didn't want to end up across the world in a cultureless, cookie-cutter American city.

"Cardiff, Wales."

"I'm in."

"I thought you might say that," She said, handing him a business card and an aeroplane ticket. "See you soon."

-.-.-**PENDOYLAN-.-.-**

Mustering up all of her patience, Dr. Elizabeth Llewellyn stepped into the examination room, where an American woman was waiting. She'd been working nonstop for four hours.

"Hello. What seems to be the problem, Ms. Stalon, is it?"

The young woman kicked her legs back and forth. "Well, I went to Israel and France the past few days, and I'm here from America. Now I'm showing virus symptoms, so I came to get checked out."

"Did you get your vaccinations?"

"Yep."

"Well, we're waiting on your blood tests yet." _And you're the quietest patient I've seen all day, so I'm going to make small talk_, Elizabeth thought."Why are you travelling?"

"Business. I'm recruiting from all over the world for a team based in Cardiff."

"What sort of team?"

The blonde stretched. "Mm… It's called Torchwood."

Elizabeth stiffened. Every Cardiff native knew that name, and the destruction that followed. It was why she'd left the city.

"Ah! You _have _heard of us. The Rift activity is why you moved out of Cardiff a little over a year ago. Mother, father, and sister live in London. You're absolutely brilliant—finished six years of university at nineteen, like me. Bet you're bored here, in a small rural area, tending to sprains and sore throats.

"Also, there is no blood work, because I'm not human. So if you want to study non-human entities—like me, apparently—you should join. Refuse to join, I drug you. Fantastic, right? Well, for me.

She flopped back onto the bed and addressed the ceiling. "Look, I tried easing into this, but I'm sort of bored. I mean, I went to Israel and France and did this pitch already. But they're idiots." The woman propped herself back up. "You're smart enough to get it without me going through it. So, will you join, or will you forget?"

"Come with you to… fight monsters?"

"Yeah, that sums it up nicely. You also get a lot of time to yourself, and a lot of excitement."

Beth Llewellyn grinned. "Sign me up, Ms. Stalon."

"It's Professor Stalon." She said seriously, then handed her a business card. "And I'll see you at this address tomorrow at 8am."


	3. Petrichor

_PETRICHOR_

Beth looked up at the huge building, calculating just how much money it would take to build such a monstrosity in a major city. Her current expert opinion on the amount was _a lot_.

"Hello." A really tall man said, with a slight French accent. "Do you work here?"

"I do now," She said.

He offered her his hand. "I'm Dr. Peter Walker."

"I'm Dr. Elizabeth Llewellyn." Beth replied, shaking the hand warmly.

"A local?" Peter said, obviously noticing the accent. And Llewellyn was clearly Welsh too.

"Mmhm. I was enticed by the offer of studying her DNA. Apparently she's not human."

"So you met the Professor person too?"

"Yes. She told me she visited France—that was you, I assume?"

"I want to study her psychology. She's difficult to read."

"A psychologist?" Beth said, and groaned when he nodded. "My mum's a psychologist. I hate psychology. I was hoping you were going to be some help dissecting aliens, or whatever she's going to have me doing."

"I'd be delighted to help."

She grinned. "Good man," She said—then, "For a psychologist."

They were still laughing when a young man about the same diminutive height as Beth approached, hands shoved in the pockets of a too-large bomber jacket. "Hey."

"You're the Israeli?"

"How do you know that?" He asked, suspiciously.

Beth shrugged. "Psychic."

The metal double doors swung open. "William, Elizabeth, Peter, you may enter." Another American woman said, trying to sound ominous.

"Who are you?" Beth said, appraising the tall, lithe blonde girl.

"I'm Annabel Lee Sawyer. Welcome to Torchwood."

They looked around at each other, and then followed her into the entrance hall.

There was just another set of steel doors, which appeared to close vertically instead of horizontally, like normal doors. She laid a hand on the centre of the doors, and they _whoosh_ed upwards extremely quickly.

"You'll be able to open this when your handprint is in the system, so long as you're not unconscious or dead. They close in under 2 milliseconds during lockdown. No last minute escapes here." Annabel said seriously. "There've been a lot of rogue agents—actually, I don't think there's a single Torchwood 3 operative who didn't betray their last leader at some point."

"How many Torchwoods have there been?" Peter asked.

"We're on Torchwood 4 now." Annabel said, as she led them to another door, which held a keyboard. "Petrichor is the current password. The boss's favourite perfume brand—also, the smell of dust after rain."

Beth glanced at Peter and said, "Um, what happened to other Torchwoods?"

"Let me see… Torchwood 1 was founded by Queen Victoria to combat a man that, as far as I can see, seems to _save _the world every time he shows up. Ridiculous, really. They were later destroyed by a mixture of their own stupidity and said man." She stopped at another door and tapped in a number on a keypad. "239978 is this code.

"Torchwood 2 was just one man, a strange guy by the name of Archie. I think it got shut down, but you never really know. He's useless, anyway." Here, she paused again at another door, where she addressed a speaker. "Torchwood 4 Activation Code 713—this is Agent 5. Access Voice Recognition, password _Ood_."

"What's Ood?" William asked.

Annabel shrugged as she allowed a retina scanner to check her identity and the door opened not to another compartment, but to a huge room with a strange cylindrical machine. "Alien race, apparently. Now, Torchwood 3 was here in Cardiff, but got blown up by a bunch of corrupt members were Captain Jack Harkness, MIA; Gwen Cooper Williams, retired; and Ianto Jones, killed in the line of duty."

She glanced up at Rosabel Stalon, who was leaning against the cylinder's control panels. The entire group was struck silent, while Annabel strolled over to her boss. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nope," Rosabel replied. "Excellent work. I've assigned them all to reading Torchwood archives in our free time; we have to learn from the copious mistakes of our predecessors." She added to the newbies.

"Hi! I'm Marissa." A pretty brunette with a Scottish accent said, bouncing up to stand beside the American. "I'm a first generation Scottish-American, but I sound like a Scot 'cause I pretty much lived there while Rose went rambling around the world looking for—oof!"

Rosabel had shoved her over. "Sorry. She had four Monsters last night, trying to reroute the—something or another. I dunno, the only machinery I can work is this Rift Machine." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the huge contraption.

"She was looking for Captain Harkness, trying to get advice on Torchwood. Nerves," Marissa said, grinning.

"Our fearless leader," Annabel quipped. "So! Anne's over there in the corner, I think Hunter's passed out drunk in the Archives room. Sh, don't tell Rose. That's the team, though. Me, the ex-CIA agent, the drunk, the techie, and the boss go about fighting aliens. Which is why we need you—we're not exactly the A-Team."

Beth glanced into the corner, where she finally noticed a petite girl (she looked about 16) with black hair and orange glasses. The girl waved, and then returned to reading a manga written solely in Japanese.

"You know that old joke about Americans only speaking English?" Rosabel said. "I speak _everything_, she knows in Japanese, and Hunter speaks German coherently when he's drunk, so I can only assume he's fluent."

"How do you mean, you speak everything?" Peter said, still unmoved from the spot he'd stop dead in when he saw the inside of the Hub.

"I speak _every_thing. 'Course, that's why UNIT hired me. My file is still sealed, the secretive little bastards. And it also gives me one hell of a headache sometimes."

"So, if you're not human…" Beth said slowly. "You're an alien."

"Yep."

William was cottoning on too. "So why do you fight aliens?" He asked.

"We only kill hostile aliens—that was Torchwood 1's mistake. They would've dissected me, but Torchwood 3 would've _loved_ me. After all, what makes you guys so sure humans are the superior race, and aliens all evil? The Ood are _fantastic_. They wouldn't hurt a soul. I sent them home. But Weevils would kill us all, so they have to be fought. See the distinction?"

Beth nodded just the once, and William mumbled agreement.

Peter watched Rosabel silently, and she spun to face him with an odd light to her face. "You, my cynical little Frenchman, are evaluating just how trustworthy I am."

"Yes. Problem?" Peter retorted.

"Not yet." She replied coolly. "Alright! Morgue and cells downstairs, living area and library upstairs, offices against that wall—if you've got questions, ask Annabel, I'm going to the Archives. William, Ben is in your office, eating like she's never seen food before. Peter, I got you a suit, one that actually fits. Beth, the morgue is also a fully equipped clinic, but if you'd like to move a quick First Aid station up here, that might be wise."

"Ben is a boy!" William called after her, as she jogged away.

"No, she's not. Keep her away from 17A, unless you want tabby-and-white kittens!"

Beth grinned at Peter and William, who were looking rather shell-shocked. "Not how you pictured our first defence against aliens? Shame…"

The Welshwoman skipped off to the morgue, humming to herself.


	4. Code Red

**-.-.-ARCHIVES-.-.-**

"Nngh…"

Rosabel grinned and spun the singularity scalpel through her fingers expertly. "That'll be the alcohol leaving your system at a rapid pace. Namely, instantly."

"What's going on?" Hunter said, bolting up from where he'd crashed awkwardly on the records room couch.

"You're sobering up, or you're being Retconned and dropped off at a sober living facility." She replied with her expression suddenly serious. "I may have two hearts, but it doesn't mean either has any kindness left over in it."

He stared at her blankly.

"Look, Hunter, I get there's been shit in your life. But it's not going to be solved by drinking yourself to death, and I can't have an operative who can barely stay awake. I've got an in-the-know psychologist downstairs if you want someone besides a bartender to jabber at."

"Fucking quacks." He muttered.

"Yeah, well, what can you do?"

Hunter looked up at her slyly. "I'll go to therapy if you do, Professor."

"_Please_." She scoffed. "I don't need therapy."

"Really? You're a classic case of abandonment issues if I ever saw one—and believe me, I've seen several. And your mother died, didn't she?"

"She was killed by an alien neurotoxin when I was fifteen, and my father was never really a part of my life. I went to therapy. I dealt with it."

It was Hunter's turn to scoff. "See? You're oh-so-honest, but you're too smart. You're telling people half-truths to satisfy them while you keep the rest under wraps, stewing over it. Not even your best friend knows everything, though she knows a lot more than anyone else. Does she know you spend hours just looking at one file, one tiny file that only has a single spiralling rune on it? I see a lot of what you do, since I crash here most nights. You're not a-okay, no matter how much you run about trying to be this genius leader person who's got everything under control."

"Yeah, well, do you see me drinking? No."

They locked eyes. Rosabel was sitting on the edge of her armchair now, glaring down at him ominously. Hunter was still awkwardly half-propped-up, but matched her gaze calmly.

"I'm not going to make you talk to Dr. Walker. I hated my therapists. I played mind games with them." Rosabel said. "But there's always me. I mean, I already know, since I read your files, and I'm pretty screwed up myself, so judgement free."

"I'll get sober." Hunter said, extricating himself from the couch.

Rosabel was left frowning in consternation, wondering how to best get her team to _not_ screw up like the old Torchwoods.

-.-.-**Office 17A, Conference Room, AKA The Professor's Room**-.-.-

"Have you completed your DNA analysis?" Rosabel asked, perched on the huge oak desk.

Dr. Llewellyn waved a piece of paper at her. "Got it. Four hours, still couldn't figure out what you are. You resemble a human, but there's something else. Do you even know?"

"I know my father is human, but from the future—51st century to be exact. I know my mother is a Time Lord, but there was a genetic difference between her and them, due to the technology used to jumble the last Time Lord's DNA to create an entirely new person."

"Why are you telling me this?" Elizabeth asked.

"Because Captain Jack Harkness wouldn't have, and I can't afford to be betrayed as often as him. And you sort of need to know. See this box?"

Rosabel had picked up the box in question. It was black plastic, with a handle and red metal rims, latched tightly shut. She freed the key from around her neck, slid it into the lock. It clicked open, and she handed it to Elizabeth.

"There's a knife… It's all weapons. What is all this from?"

"People have tried to kill me with those objects. That knife? Ten years ago, I was eleven, I got mugged. Well, almost. I ended up knocking him out. I pulled the knife out and five minutes later the paramedics arrived… Couldn't understand how so much blood came from just a tiny knick."

"That's—I'd say it's impossible, but I _have_ just been hired by an alien to fight aliens. How?"

"Both of my parents have this nifty little ability to come back after they die. Apparently, if you combine those, you get a kid who apparently can't die to begin with. If I can, they haven't gone about it effectively just yet."

Elizabeth narrowed her sharp brown eyes, studying Rosabel so intently the blonde was actually a bit frightened. "Are you going to tell everyone?"

"Just you, Anne, and Marissa know."

"Why tell _me_?"

"Well, you're our doctor, so you need to know my healing patterns. And I need you to trust me." Rosabel stood up and took the box.

"I already do. I'm an excellent judge of character," The Welshwoman shrugged. "But I think you need to trust yourself. Everything you do is all about avoiding making the same mistakes as the previous Torchwoods—more specifically, not making the same mistakes as your father. Mistakes are a part of life, Rose."

Beth smiled an all-knowing smile and left.

"Hey! I'm the enigma here!" Rosabel yelled after her.

Dr. Walker poked his head around the corner. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, um, Beth was just in here. You know how she is. What's up?"

"Marissa says there's a 'spike in Rift activity'. Does that mean something to you?"

"We graph Rift activity—that is, we measure the energy released by that gap in Time and Space—like a heartbeat or brain waves. An increase in that energy means an increase in the activity—alien tech falling through, weevils waking up, that sort of thing. When a heartbeat increases or brainwaves spike, the person is about to move. It's like that. Well, it's more complicated than that, but if it helps you to think of it like that with all your medical knowledge, then think of it that way."

Then the alarms started screaming.

"And there's the practical application of warning me about a significant spike: a little time to prepare for Code Red." She said, grabbing her gun.

Rosabel dashed into the main room with Peter at her heels.

Then everything went black.


	5. Worst First Day Ever

Adrianne came to and had to muffle a squeak of dismay. She seemed to be in an ice building, a cold grey box, not unlike the surface of a lake. There was no sunlight, no trees, no familiar smell of the north wind as it stirred her hair.

"Where am I?" She whispered. Then, louder, "WHERE AM I?"

There was a strange sound, and she bolted upright, her head still spinning.

Someone else seemed to be doing the same thing, someone strangely pale with unusual clothing—a young man. Around him were several other people, all about her age.

He looked at her through funny little water-clear things shaped like sharps of bark.

"Who are you?" He asked in a funny regional accent, one she'd never heard, and she'd been to every province on her planet.

"I'm Princess Adrianne Rheia Topaz of the Royal Province of Druid. And you ought to know that!"

The man scratched his head, nearly dislodged the shimmery ice-eyes. "This is going to sound odd, but what planet are you from?"

"Arbiore, of course."

"Ah… That's going to be a problem."

"Why?"

"You're on a planet called Earth. I'm Dr. Peter Walker."

"Doctor?" She said, scrambling to her feet and grabbed her bow from the ground beside her. "What have you done to me? This is an act of war!"

"Relax, I help people…"

"Doctors are great warriors. I should know. One came to Arbiore's sister planet."

This man, Peat-Walker—whatever sort of name that was—raised his hands slowly. "There must be a translation error—you see, on Earth doctors help people. We fix them up after battles. I talk to them about their problems. That girl, there, she closes wounds and gives medicine. Do you understand that?"

"I'm not an idiot!" She said hotly, but lowered her bow. "How can I have left Arbiore? I was _just_ walking through the Grove of the Dead."

"There's this hole in time and space, which appears to have scooped you up and brought you here. I'm brand new here, so I have no idea what I'm doing."

"What happened to the Pantera?"

"What's a Pantera?"

"They are the enemy of all of my peoples. A terrible creature, with eyes as red as the setting sun and fur the colour of the night sky, impossible to spot in a dark forest. One was attacking me when I fell through."

"Why are you uninjured?"

Adrianne threw her head back and laughed. Peat-Walker really did know nothing of Arborian royalty. "Because I'm the second born daughter of the Queen—I run the entire _military_. I am more than trained enough to fight off a single Pantera."

"So why didn't you?" He challenged.

The Princess frowned. She wasn't used to being challenged, not even by her brothers and sisters. Between her rank and her fiery temper, no one back home dared to mess with her. "Oh, I dunno, maybe because I _fell_ through a _hole_ in _time_ and _space_ and landed on some planet called _Earth_!"

"That's not very diplomatic. What sort of royalty are you?"

"You can't even fight, and you call yourself a doctor!"

"Human doctors don't fight!"

"WELL MAYBE THEY SHOULD! _Like right now_!"

The boy, who was as pale as the moon's surface, even paler than his sleeping Earth-friends, frowned in a way that made him look very attractive. "Why on Earth would you say that?" He said slowly.

She pointed over his shoulder. "Because there's a Pantera behind you."

He spun around and then the Pantera lunged.

X-x-X-x-X

Just as Peter was sure he was going to die—first day on the job, not even lunchtime yet—a hand fixed on his shoulder and dragged him back. Princess Adrianne Ray-Whatever jumped between him and the huge black shape.

It looked like a panther, but with totally black skin, no trace of the darker leopard pattern. It had sabres and its eyes were huge and red, and also appeared to have no eyelids.

The alien girl's bow was raised, and in a single fluid movement she'd released the string and sent a silvery arrow thudding into the beast.

The Pantera hissed, flicking a snake-like tongue, and snapped the shaft of the arrow off with one massive paw.

Three more arrows were already being fired off rapidly—Peter hadn't even seen her move—but it leapt sideways, lashing its tail, and the arrows hit the glossy floor and skidded away.

"Should we run?" Peter asked.

She turned to face him. "_Duh_."

The alien bolted past him towards the nearest door, and he sprinted after her. The Pantera limped after them, its gait obviously hindered by the arrow in its chest.

He jammed _239978_ into the keypad by the door as quickly as he could and it beeped, flashing red. "OH, COME ON!"

"665782." The girl offered.

"Where did you get that?"

She pointed to an electric blue sticky note above the door.

He tapped it in. "Thank God for someone's terrible memory." The light flashed green and the door swung open.

Peter ushered her in and followed, closing the door behind him quickly. There was a growl, and then something flung itself at the door.

"That thing is impossibly strong," Adrianne informed him. "My arrows are unbreakable by any other force, even diamonds. Druidanian wood—it is grown on the trees around our palace. I don't know what sort of shining wood this is, but it will break eventually."

"Oh, why did I have to be the first one awake?" Peter hissed.

"Actually, why are you?" She said, joining him as he slumped against the wall.

"I'm used to getting knocked out… And of course, with my luck, it happens on my first day," He said honestly.

The young alien woman frowned. "First day doing what?"

"Defeating hostile aliens, apparently."

"Alien… A traveller from another world—you mean someone like me?"

"Well, the Pantera namely. _You_'re alright."

She laughed again, this time not harshly. "Just don't get me in a bad mood, yeah?" She joked.

"What were you doing wandering alone in the woods, if you're royalty?"

"My father, the King, died. I was visiting his grave. My family, they moved on. But I couldn't. Not without him."

Peter rested his head against the cool walls. "My father used to hit me until I fell unconscious. I won't miss him when he dies."

Her fingers snaked into his, and he felt a gentle squeeze as the steel door began to buckle under the weight of the Pantera. _Only moments now_, he thought.

Then the girl leapt up, laughing. "YES!"

"What is it?"

"All our moping, we forgot to glance to our right when we walked in," She said with a huge grin, like Christmas had come early. "We're in an arsenal, and _I_ know how to fight, even if you don't, Healer-Doctor."

"I know how to fight," He replied, running to the huge weapons room and grabbed a revolver. "Like I said, my father used to beat up on me. Then I fought back!" Peter cocked the gun and stood beside the alien girl as the door crashed to the ground.


	6. Getting Along

Rosabel was dragged out of her unconsciousness by the sound of gunfire. Instincts kicked in and she jumped up, reaching for her gun. Her head swam and her vision blacked—bad idea. "Torchwood, report! Is anyone awake?"

The entire place was silent for a moment, and her heart plummeted. Then her vision swam back into view. Everyone was unharmed, laying about her unconscious, and even as she watched Hunter groaned and rolled onto his stomach half-heartedly.

"What in all the Dark Forest is that thing?" An unfamiliar female voice said loudly.

"It's called a gun." Peter's voice replied.

"Not exactly stealthy, is it?"

"It's more effective than a bow!"

"Except your enemy will hear you coming—how could you possibly hunt with it?"

Rosabel walked towards the voices—they were in the weapons room—and was surprised to see a huge puddle of blood seeping across the floor. "Dr. Walker, what happened?"

"We killed the Pantera!" The woman called. "Are you the Queen of this Earth place?"

"I'm in charge of this team, if that's what you mean. There is no single Earth leader." Rosabel replied, searching her memory for any mention of a Pantera. The dead creature on the floor was it, obviously, and it looked like a panther.

Peter stepped into Rosabel's line of sight. "She's from—"

"Ah, ah, ah, I'll get it. Just… Hold on. Monarchy—okay. Pantera—got it. Bows—that helps. Now… Dark Forest! Oh, that is _fantastic_! Are you from Arbiore?"

The woman—young, with long, fiery red hair and tanned skin—picked her way around the dead Pantera, soaking her leather moccasins in blood. "Yes." She said simply, offering a hand.

Rose remembered her study of Arbiore's culture, and grasped the other woman's forearm. "I'm Professor Rosabel Stalon, at your service."

"I'm Princess Adrianne Rheia Topaz of the Royal Province of Druid." She lowered her voice, "Or at least, I was. My mother actually disowned me."

"That makes my job easier," Rosabel replied. "Because I have to tell you that you're stuck here."

The Arborian glanced over her shoulder at Peter. "I could do a lot worse." She said softly.

"Yeah, you really could. Welcome to Torchwood, Adrianne Topaz."

"You make that sound like _welcome home_." Adrianne said.

"It could be."

X-x-X-x-X **One Week Later** X-x-X-x-X

Rosabel leaned against the railings of the staircase, looking down at her team as they lounged around the Hub eating Chinese food—after bringing two living things and a tree (found on the floor next to the Rift Machine while they were getting checked out for concussions), there was little Rift activity, like the Rift was tired, like an actual living creature.

She was still working on that particular theory.

Below, Anne was teaching Adrianne to use chopsticks, while Elizabeth and Annabel threw a clothespin doll dressed like Peter back and forth. The actual Peter kept trying to stop them, hindered by his need to stop to argue with them when their joking insults presented logical fallacies, and of course dodging the strays from Will and Hunter's game of darts.

"They're adjusting well," Marissa noted.

Rose nodded. "They're definitely bonding. I'm worried about Peter and the other guys getting along, though."

"I think Peter prefers the girls anyway," Missy said. "Maybe not so much me and Anne, but he's best friends with the others."

"Have I ever told you my theory that the Rift is a living creature?"

"Yes," Marissa said, linking arms with her best friend. "But you were really tired, and you were describing it like a duck floating on the surface of the universe, so I sort of blocked it out. Have you refined it?" She added.

"Don't knock my Universe Duck Theory." Rosabel said, a touch too loudly, because the entire room turned to stare.

Adrianne looked around at them. "Is anyone else going to ask what the Universe Duck Theory is?"

"Yes, what is it?" Beth called up to them.

"Erm… Have I ever mentioned my theory that the Universe is a giant lake, with everything in it one atom of water or sediment? And sometimes those atoms saturate the things moving through them, which then bring particles of water to places they shouldn't end up? And how ducks bring water and sediment to different areas of the lake? I think the Rift is the duck! It's alive, and moving, and carrying things about. And I think that's why there are some periods of inactivity and some of activity—it's like it's sleeping and waking up."

"The Rift…" Beth said slowly. "The great, terrible gap in time and space that we work to combat—you think it's a duck?"

Rosabel tapped her head. "It sounds better in here."

"I think it sounds scary in there," Annabel joked.

"Yeah," Rose said quietly, so only Marissa could hear. Then, louder, "Ooh! Did you guys save an eggroll for me?"

"Non sequitur much?" Hunter called, but held up a white folding box.

"I would explain exactly how my thought process worked, but it's so complex and terrifying I'm afraid your tiny, ordinary little human brain would implode from the intricacy of the delicate balance of logic and reason." Rosabel retorted loftily, eyes sparkling with amusement, as she walked over to them and took the box.

She flopped down beside William, and Marissa took the spot on her other side.

William looked up and blushed slightly. "Um… Rosabel? What's non sequitur mean?"

"It's Latin for "not following", Will." Rosabel said, laughing.

"Hey! I'd like to see you learn more than one—oh, never mind." He said as his ears went pink—he'd obviously forgotten that Rosabel spoke _everything_.

"Keep being forgetful," She whispered in his ear. "It's endearing."

In the reflection on the interior of her glasses, she could see him gaping like a fish as she turned away. Beth shook her head, grinning slightly.

It would appear that only having half of the 51st Century pheromones of her father had done rather little to dilute their effect—not that she really wanted them, she reflected. Non-platonic or physical relationships weren't even a speck on her radar.

"Oops." Annabel said. "Um, Peter, we just killed mini-you."

Beth held up the clothespin doll, which was rather scorched from coming into contact with a heating coil in the open panel of the Rift Machine.

"OW! I totally felt that." Peter said, deadpan.

"Liar," Beth said. "If you could feel it, then Rosabel would've noticed she's been dangling from one of the pipes in the morgue by a string for days now."

Hunter sat up faster than you could say _strip poker time_. "You have one of those for all of us?"

"Mm-hm."

"That's creepy." Anne said.

Peter finally got a hold of the doll. "I do _not_ wear a beret!"

"No, but I'm knitting you one for your birthday." Annabel retorted.

Adrianne bounced over excitedly. "Knitting? What's knitting? Can you teach me?"

Marissa nudged Rosabel. "I don't know why you were so worried. They're getting along perfectly." She said, and nodded to everyone as they fell comfortably into arguments once again.

"But that's the thing about Torchwood," Rose said, staring off into the distance, eyes fixed on the Rift Machine. "Everything always changes."


	7. Change

"Fisk! I told you to stay away from Benita." Rosabel scolded, scooping up her grey-and-white cat as he tried to open the door to William's office.

William scowled. This was the sixth time this morning she'd said _Benita_ instead of _Ben _or _Benjamin_—which was his _boy_ cat's name. And she spoke to the cat like it was a human, which was weird, even for an alien.

She rubbed the cat's back as it rested its head against her chest. "Well, I _know_, but that's really no excuse. And don't give me that nonsense!"

"She speaks cat," Marissa said as she walked by with a bundle of wires. "Don't scoff—it's true."

"It's impossible." Will maintained, folding his arms.

"Nah. I know a lot of things—the language of cat very much included. They tell me stuff. Fisk here has a vertebrae five above his tail, and it you rub it—instant purr spot! He'll tell you anything."

Missy dumped the cords on the desk by the Rift Machine and went over to scratch behind one of the white ears, cooing. The two girls stood there, talking in low voices about the Rift and randomly stopping to murmur to the cat and then picking up where they left off.

"Right. Well. I'll go to do work and—do something." He raised his voice. "What do I do?"

Rosabel only barely glanced up. "Huh? Oh! Um, feed the Weevils, would you? I'm busy."

"Petting the _cat_?"

"Well, Fisk needs some love, otherwise Benita will end up pregnant. There's also the Rift Machine—it needs the power rerouted around a mechanical glitch in one of the heating coils caused by a reaction to the glue on that ridiculous clothespin doll, which is creating a—" Rosabel broke off with a huff. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

_Yeah, that's me, the idiot who's paid to point and shoot_, he thought bitterly as he grabbed the cooler of raw meat.

"Never feed the Weevils angry!" Beth yelled from the stairs. She and Adrianne had been working on how to best defend and besiege spiral staircases with a bow—apparently it was a big problem in medieval castles, and they were both fascinated with finding the solution.

He made a rude gesture at her without turning, and an arrow whizzed past his ear a second later. "Watch yourself, human!" Adrianne said.

-.-.-**Cardiff**-.-.-

"The readings appear to be coming from in here," Anne said quietly, pointing to a warehouse on the docks.

Annabel rolled her eyes. "I can read the screen, thanks."

"That's enough arguing," Peter snapped. "What is _with_ you two today?"

"Annabel is PMSing and it's somehow my fault." Anne offered.

"Anne swans around acting all superior!"

"Girls!" He said urgently.

"You can just get off your psychologist high horse, alright? You and William were bitching about each other yesterday."

Peter grabbed her shoulders and tried to spin her around. "Annabel!"

"What's wrong?" Anne asked, turning. Then, "Uh… Peter?"

"I know," Peter said grimly.

Annabel spun around, just in time for the sonic pulse to knock all three of them out. She had just a brief moment of consciousness in which all she could think was, _oh, not again_!

-.-.-**Headquarters**-.-.-

Rosabel's fingers brushed a copper wire and she jumped back swearing, not for the first time. "We need to introduce a coolant to keep these cords from melting, at least while I determine a stronger insulating material to use on these. It overheats in here, and one of these days someone's going to get electrocuted. And _if_, in the course of dying a painful death by electrocution, they happen to close a circuit and cause the Rift Machine to malfunction, which could easily rip a hole in the fabric of the universe, I will be _very _angry."

There was no answer, and she stuck her head out. "Hello?" She said.

Once again she was met by silence.

"I am being extraordinary in here, and lecturing extensively, and there's no one to stand around in awe. REMIND ME AGAIN WHY I EVEN HAVE YOU ALL!"

"Rosabel!" Marissa said, skidding into the room. "You remember those weird signals from alien technology we sent Annabel, Anne, and Peter to collect? I have reason to believe they're using a biodampening force field, and they have a significant amount more tech than we thought."

"Err… Do I want to know what happened to that team to make you notice that?"

"Well… Their life systems and comms appear to have faded, but that's not possible—they either work, or they don't. Thus I could determine they were actually just dimmed by some sort of biodamper."

The half-human woman frowned and turned her attention back to the Rift Machine, which had started making _very_ worrying sounds at a pitch just a bit too low for human ears. Of course her darling little contraption chose _right now_ to malfunction. All this Rift activity was causing problems. Something big was coming, and there was a funny little twinging at the back of her mind because of it.

"I can't leave," Rose said. "Literally, if I leave now, the adverse affects could be innumerable."

Marissa took a deep breath. "Right. I'll round them up and into the truck."

"Hunter's at his AA meeting—how much tech do you think there is?"

"There can't be much. A biodampening force field doesn't work on, say, Rift activity monitors—and there haven't been any large readings."

"Right. Don't interrupt Hunter, then. Just get Will, Beth, and Adrianne and fetch the others—I bet they just wandered into the force field without noticing. Oh, and lock Fisk in my office, would you? I don't want him being exposed to any of the omicron-B radiation."

"Sometimes I think you make this stuff up." Marissa said, but Rosabel heard her walk away all the same.

Rosabel frowned at the Rift Machine as it changed pitch. "Come on, don't do this, I don't understand!" She hissed. "What's your problem?"

She couldn't speak to the machine like she could other aliens and animals and humans, but it made sense to her like wordless music did. Sometimes she wished the Rift _was_ alive and could speak to her, so she wouldn't always be the smartest person.

Something was coming, and she didn't know what to do about it, but there were eight people who'd trust her to save the world from it anyway.

Not for the first time, she wished her biological family wasn't the flakiest one in the world—with her father meandering the Earth, mourning lost lives, and her mother pretending to be dead while she flew around the universe like _her_ father.

Then she shook away her dark thoughts and hummed Beethoven as she returned to the fuses.


	8. Sontarans

Hunter came back to the Hub, expecting to find everyone sitting around again, but instead was greeted by a huge cloud of green-blue smoke and creative swearing in a variety of languages, some of which didn't even sound human.

"Morning, Professor." He said, choking and waving the smoke away.

"Afternoon, actually—pass me that wrench? Don't touch anything else, though."

"Erm, why not?"

"Well, the tools are all metal, and a wire fell down a moment ago, so any number of them might have a very powerful electrical current running through them."

He carefully picked his way over the table and found a wrench. "Here." He passed it up to her, and there was a funny creaking sound.

Then—"I've got it!"

To his surprise, the smoke began to clear and she hopped down a moment later.

"Why are you back so early? Did you skip out?"

"No… It's four o'clock."

"Impossible!" She said, pulling off the somewhat steam punk goggles and replacing them with her glasses. "Marissa would've been back by now if it were four."

"Why? Where is everyone?"

Rosabel's face became grave almost immediately, losing the goofy grin. "Wherever they are, nothing good is happening there."

Then she turned and sprinted away, leaving him to follow her.

She skidded into her office (which was actually a conference room) and began dragging laptops to the main table, ranting about biodampening force fields and advanced alien technology.

Hunter couldn't really understand what was going on, so he sat down in one of the comfy office chairs and waited for her to calm down enough to explain whatever was going through her brain. She usually got around to it, once she finished explaining it to herself.

"OH! Oh, that is _brilliant_! I'm going to have to stop them, obviously, but I can still appreciate a good plan while I plan how to unravel it!"

"What is it?"

"The Sontarans have invaded _again_ and took up residence in Cardiff. They're trying to take over Torchwood—apparently they're wary of us, because of UNIT and the Doctor."

Hunter nodded, like he understood. Then, "What are Sontarans?"

"They're a humanoid clone race that believes the only honour in life is to be found in the military conquest of other races. They lost the last time they tried Earth, and now they're a bit… _stroppy_. Unfortunately, we'll need steel bullets and they'll quite possibly be under mind control, so stun guns as well. Oh, and brute force. We'll need lots and lots of brute force, which you'll note we don't have."

"So what's the plan?"

"No idea," She replied, ruffling her hair in frustration. "I haven't the _faintest_ idea."

"How can I help?"

"Smartest thing you've said yet. Find Fisk. I need him. He's good with this sort of thing."

"Your _cat_. You want me to fetch your _cat_ so you can ask _him_ how to fight _aliens_."

The young professor was already typing away at a computer, so he threw his hands up and walked out. At the door, he turned back. "_You_ are a glitch in the system. A _glitch_ in the fucking system."

"Mm… Just get Fisk."

Hunter rolled his eyes and went to fetch the cat. He found him curled up next to the Israeli dude's tabby cat, which definitely didn't look good for Rosabel's kitten ban _or_ William's insistence that his pet was a guy.

Given the circumstances, he resolved not to tell Rosabel, and brought the cat in to her.

She was lying on the table with her feet in the air and crossed at the ankles, typing away at the nearest computer. Fisk wriggled away and leapt onto the table, strutting over to his owner with his tail waving. Hunter leaned over to peer at the screen and nearly fell over when he recognised her work gmail account.

Rosabel didn't seem to notice his distress as she flashed him a _thank you_ thumbs up and scratched Fisk behind the ears. "What do you think, boy? Sontarans have my best friends held captive, and all I've got is Hunter and me."

"Rosabel—Ah, Professor Stalon?" Hunter said, feeling more than a little angry and trying to sound polite.

She didn't glance up from the computer. "Go on, say it."

"Who the _hell_ are you emailing right now? Huge crisis, you know, your best friends are missing, stolen by _fucking_ aliens?"

"_I_," She said with a certain amount of emphasis, "Am calling in a few old debts."

"Don't think the CIA's gonna help—or talking to your _cat_. Did I mention the _fucking_ _aliens_?"

"I doubt they've stopped to engage in mass coitus, so please restrain yourself from preluding the word _aliens_ with _fucking_."

"Who the _fuck_ are you emailing?"

"Oh, you know, a few UNIT people, a couple rogue mercenaries, and sixteen separate species of aliens."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"I thought it more mentally stimulating to trade retorts with you," Rosabel said impatiently. "My mother was created as a warrior, and my father was in more wars than you can imagine. I thrive on conflict."

There was a beep, and she rolled over and sat up, flipping on the huge screen at the front of the room.

A strange tentacle-y creature dominated the screen. "Hello, Rostalon."

"Hello, Elder Ood! Hunter, this is the leader of the Ood from the 61st century. Elder, this is my friend Hunter. We need your help locating the Doctor."

"Since his regeneration, we have been unable to locate his telepathic field." Elder Ood said seriously. "How can we help you otherwise, Rostalon?"

Hunter saw the shadow fall across his boss's face and rested a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing else you can do," She replied helplessly.

"We will sing across the universe in the hopes of finding the Doctor," It replied. "Our battle song goes with you, Rostalon."

The screen went blank.

"Who are the Ood, then?" Hunter said, hoping to coax her out of her foul temper.

"About a year before you and I met, when I had just turned eighteen, these creatures fell through the Sub-Rift. UNIT had no way to save them, and there was not much we could do otherwise. UNIT was considering euthanasia, but I heard their song and I saved them. I put them on a prototype Rift Ship of mine, and sent them back through the main Rift. I even added a way for them to access the comms system with their telepathic field, so we could communicate across time and space while I guided them home with a map of the galaxies."

"What song?"

"The Ood have a telepathic field, and I can hear them singing on one of the… shall we say, frequencies? It's incredibly heartbreaking."

"And this Doctor… who exactly is he? I've heard stories, but the most comprehensive files are sealed."

Rosabel's gaze seemed to space out, and her voice was reminiscent. "He's the last of his kind, a wanderer, a lonely god, an avenging angel. Monsters fear him and humans owe their lives to him many times over, throughout time and space. He runs away from his past and he runs towards danger and he runs around saving the universe, all without a single thanks… And he's so very alone."

"Couldn't have put it better myself." A casual American voice drawled.

Rosabel's face lit up like Christmas had come early. "DAD!"


	9. Planning

After the unprofessional outburst, Rosabel felt a little childish, but she couldn't bring herself to regret the word choice, given that her father was looking a bit chagrined and also kinder than usual.

Hunter drew his gun and levelled it at Jack. "Who the hell are you?"

"I thought that would be fairly evident," He said, coolly.

"How did you get in here?"

"The system is set to allow him to override it." Rosabel said calmly, not concerned enough to make Hunter lower the gun.

"One more question. Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you right now, because I _really_ don't understand what's going on."

Rosabel met her father's eyes, and there was a brief, silent argument. Then, "Well, Hunter, for starters, because of this." She said, drawing her own weapon and firing before Jack could say much beyond "Rose!"

Hunter gaped at her as Jack fell back, instantly dead. "I was bluffing!" He hissed.

"I know."

"That's your father."

"Yep."

"Why did you just kill him?"

"Well, for starters, he's been avoiding me," She said. "_And_ he named me after one of his girls—seriously, if my mother hadn't stepped in, my name would actually be Rose."

Hunter stared at her, a mixture of horror and a twisted sort of respect. "Do you understand how petty that sounds?"

"It only hurt for a moment."

Jack breathed in suddenly and bolted up. "SERIOUSLY?" He said angrily.

"Couldn't resist. I might not have been able to even if you weren't immortal."

"What the—Rosabel?" Hunter said, pointing. "He's—oh, never mind. I withdraw my useless threat to shoot you. Don't mind me while I re-evaluate my views on the universe."

Rosabel picked up a stapler and threw it at Jack, who ducked. "It took you long enough!"

"I came when you needed me!"

"I needed you when my mother left. Where were you then?"

"I thought your mother died," Hunter interrupted.

"Shouldn't you be re-evaluating your views on the universe?" Jack retorted.

Rosabel glared. "Don't be rude to _my_ team. My mother did die, but she came back. It's complicated Time Lord stuff."

"Is he a Time Lord too?"

"He wishes he were—I think he's even begun to believe he is, the decisions he makes. But no, he's human, as human as you, just from a different century. It took complicated Time Lord stuff to make him immortal. But you're not the Doctor!"

"And neither are you."

Hunter stepped between them. "Um, I get that the Doctor is all great and everything, and you're both really hot-headed and you've got domestic issues to work out, but the entire Torchwood team has been taken captive by the Sontarans, and I appear to be the only sane person, but I have no idea what's going on."

"Which part of it?" Rosabel asked briskly, turning her back on her father sharply. "The Time Lord stuff, why he's here, who he is, what to do about Sontarans, or who I am? There're a lot of things to explain."

"Well, let's stick to who he is and what to do about Sontarans."

"This is my father, Captain Jack Harkness, former head of Torchwood Cardiff. And as for the Sontarans, we hope the Doctor hears the Oods' song and in the meantime, I do my usual magic and figure something out."

"There's not much you _can_ do until you tell me what's happening," Jack said.

"The biodampening shields haven't entirely blacked out our monitors—I can read their life signs, and I know they're alive. That's all I can tell, but it's what's keeping me from sending you in with a bomb." She addressed the last to her father, ignoring his _it still hurts, even though I come back_ and drumming her fingers on the table in thought. "Sontarans are all about honour—they won't kill their prisoners, as long as there isn't a fight. If they try to escape, they're as good as dead. I'm going to see about getting something through to them—it's interesting, though, because I didn't even know there were biodampers that worked on tech instead of just hiding people. Maybe biodamper is a misnomer here."

"So… wait, what?" Hunter asked good-humouredly in spite of his confusion, in a way Rosabel found secretly endearing.

"Never mind. Dad, has there been any sign of Mom?"

"She's leading a slave race to liberation from the Sycorax."

"Oh, of course she is. Right, so, I'll get into touch with Martha and see about steel bullets—Hunter, you'd better get the floorplans from the warehouse and find a back route inside. Jack, you find me weapons that are small enough to conceal but work against the Sontaran. And make sure they're too advanced for the Sonatarans to detect—no pressure."

She flopped into a chair and grabbed a headset, allowing the smile to creep across her face. She tried to convince herself, in vain, that it was just because she had backup and not because her father had come home.

Pressing a few keys, she managed to place a phone call to Martha Jones's direct line. "Martha Jones here—Mickey, stop it! Hello, who is this?"

"You'd think freelance alien hunters would invest in caller ID," She said, rather delighted to find that her headset was cordless, and she could spin her chair around while she saved the world.

"Rosabel! Oh, hi! Is your mum back?"

"No. My father is—there's a bit of an emergency. It appears a few rogue mercenaries isn't the extent of the remaining Sontarans—excellent work, by the way—in fact, they've invaded all over again. Any tips?"

"Steel bullets—also, few people know this, but they seriously underestimate women. Probably won't know what to do with a woman who surrenders, so you can just bring them down from the inside."

Rosabel propped her feet up on the desk and examined the ceiling. "Right then, I'd best get to it. Good luck, and I'll have Jack call you later. I'm going to continue spinning in my chair while I order the remainder of my team around and stop a huge group of evil invading aliens, so have a nice day."

Martha was still laughing when she cut off the line.

"HUNTER! JACK!"

The boys rushed into the room, and she pointed at Hunter. "I want you to drill tiny holes in steel bullets without harming them. Dad, find me remote control bombs with directed energy flow—back of the armoury—and find some way to set them around the warehouse. Hunter, you will then take the control and sit back here at the Hub and wait for my order to fire. Jack will drive the getaway vehicle, with all the seats flipped down so we can pile everyone in the back.

"Hang on, why am I staying here?" Hunter said in surprise. "No complaints, obviously, I don't want to die, but I'm a little offended. He's not even one of us!"

"Jack's immortal," She said, flicking him in the centre of his forehead. "_Obviously_. Now, I'm going to go get dressed. I don't think they'll trust me in a military jacket, no matter how fabulous. Luckily, clothing loves to fall through the Rift." With that, Rose jumped up and tossed the headset at Jack.

As she walked away, she heard Jack and Hunter commiserating over working with her, and grinned to herself.


	10. Infiltration

"How do I look?"

Jack looked up from the blueprints he was marking, deciding where to put the bombs. Rosabel—his daughter, the one he could actually claim, who still looked fifteen even though she'd recently turned 21—was standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for their opinions.

She was still wearing the usual black slacks, but her shirt had ruffles—probably belonging to that friend of hers, Marissa. Replacing the military jacket was a wool overcoat, pale grey and trench coat length. It was like a feminine version of his beloved coat, with delicate little silver buttons.

Actually, looking closer, the buttons were little round bullets, and he'd be willing to bet the strange silver clip holding back her hair was a modified gun.

"I couldn't find any other shoes." She said.

The captain glanced down and saw she was wearing black converse, just like the Doctor wore last time Jack had seen him. He couldn't fight the huge grin that spread across his face as he saluted. "Looking good. Did you just make those steel bullets into buttons now?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, this is my favourite coat. I couldn't find buttons in the UNIT base I was in when I got it, so I made some. I haven't worn it in a while—it appears that the public finds it hard to trust Americans with trench coats swanning about Cardiff."

Her smile was a peace offering, and he took it as such. He probably deserved the bullet through the forehead, anyway. Jack clasped his hands behind his back and rocked onto his heels, wondering if he should—

"I made the bullets." Hunter interrupted.

"Excellent!" She beamed, taking her hands out of her pockets, revealing a thin plastic cord and red beads. "I totally broke one of Missy's bracelets to do this, but I reckon she'll forgive me if I use it to save her life."

Jack helped her string the bullets onto the necklace, which ended up looking like an unusual piece of jewellery rather than ammunition.

Hunter shifted on his feet when they were done. "So this is it?" He said quietly.

Rosabel threw her arms around him, and Jack folded his arms tightly to resist the urge to shoot this boy for hugging his daughter back—he saw way too much of himself in this _Hunter_ kid.

Then he realised he had no right to play the overprotective father and his shoulders slumped slightly. He'd really screwed up, and it was really his fault, unlike with Alice. Jenny had offered to stay in Wales, but he'd sent her as far away as he could.

"Bring it in, come on." Rosabel said, holding out one of her arms to him. "Group hug, and then I get to infiltrate the Sontaran headquarters. Ooh, never thought I'd say that again."

They were an odd bunch, Jack thought, as he rested his chin on his daughter's head. But it was good.

-.-.-**Sontaran Headquarters**-.-.-

"How is that even possible?" Marissa said as she examined the bullets.

William shrugged. "I dunno. You're the technical genius, figure it out."

He was still feeling surly—everyone else had pretty much forgotten him until they'd quite finished checking on each other's wellbeing—and the horrible headache from the orange blaster batons wasn't helping.

"No wonder they left us our guns," Annabel grumbled. "They're useless like this."

"Prisoners. Stand away from the door."

They all groaned and moved away—this meant someone else had been captured.

"Probably Hunter," Peter said.

"Thankee kindly, sir. Mercy's a strength." An unfamiliar female voice said.

Marissa sat straight up. "What the sweet baby Jesus?"

The door opened with a pneumatic hiss, and Rosabel walked in, handcuffed, wearing a weird coat. She held a finger to her lips, hugged the Sontaran guard, and then sat down away from the rest of them.

As soon as the door closed, they piled in around their boss, who shook her head and grinned. "Well, I _never_—oh, dear, the accent's sticking. Hey, Missy, remember when I got stuck with the British one when we were 9, and went around saying _that's rubbish, mate_ and _odd sort of bloke_ for weeks? Anyway, hullo! Ooh, excellent, they left the weaponry. I figured they would, smarmy bastards." She yanked on her necklace, and bullets scattered across the floor.

"I love you right about now," Marissa said, beaming.

"Much as I would enjoy you two acting on _that_, can you tell me what's going to stop these bullets from refusing to fire?" Will said.

Beth groaned. "Someone hit him."

Marissa obliged, kicking him in the kneecap.

"They're steel," Rosabel was oblivious, "So they won't expand!"

Will picked up the bullets and loaded his gun with three. "Three shots each?"

"Aim carefully." The Professor replied.

"It's an entire army, Rose." Marissa said.

"All you have to do is escape. Jack has the truck, just pile in, and then Hunter will detonate the bombs carefully placed around the warehouse—we've got thirty minutes to relax. Now, status report: why do the Sontarans want us alive?"

Anne had the answer to that, "They seem to think Torchwood holds the key to their conquering of the world. Something about advanced technology."

"More importantly, who's Jack?" Beth said.

"My father, former head of Torchwood, immortal human from the future," She said dismissively. "Um, where's Adrianne?"

"Still asleep," Peter replied. "Their weapons affected her differently—different brain, I guess." He continued to stroke hair out of her face gently.

Gag-worthy, William thought cynically.

Rosabel unclipped her hair and shook it out. Her hair clip looked a bit weird, but who was he to know about women's fashion?

When she began pulling buttons off the coat and loading it up, he understood. "It's a gun."

"Yes, it is." Beth laughed. "That's my kind of fashion!"

"What do you think, Beth, standard issue Torchwood accessories?"

"My hair's too short," Annabel complained.

William leaned his head against the concrete wall and blocked them out. Salon talk wasn't his domain, and if that's all they were going to chatter about for the next thirty minutes, he was going to take a nap.

After a few moments of dozing, a hand stole into his. "I didn't bring you out of Israel for you to die here, and I'm not going to let anything bad happen. I promise." Her lips brushed his ear as she spoke, and once again the strange perfume she wore drifted around him.

And he actually believed her.


	11. Explosion

"So how do we get out?" Beth asked.

Rosabel smirked and pulled her hands out of her pocket. "I thought you'd never ask. This right here is a megaphone—and I'm going to taunt a few Sontarans. When they come to see what on Earth is going on, shoot them. Your exit is on the left."

"What about you?" Will said. "What will you do?"

"I'm going to their leader," Rose said.

Almost immediately, there was a roar of disagreement as they all tried to dissuade her. She waited for a moment—of course, they didn't quiet down fast enough, and time was ticking. "I CANNOT HEAR MYSELF THINK!" She yelled.

They quieted down.

"You are not going to stay behind," Marissa said dangerously.

"Sorry, Missy, but I have to give the Sontarans a chance to leave. It doesn't matter that I know they'll never leave—I still have to give them a chance."

"Why?" William asked. "Why give them a chance?"

She clipped her gun back around her hair and smiled at him. "The Doctor would do it." Rose replied simply, then raised the megaphone. "Sontarans! This is Professor Rosabel Stalon, head of Torchwood. All your base are belong to us—no, wait. I am inside your base. I wish to speak to your leader."

The door swung open and the five guards fell at the hands of William and Beth. Rosabel carefully stepped over them. "What ever happened to your Hippocratic oath? Or doesn't that apply to aliens?"

"I think it's more that it doesn't apply to Torchwood," Beth shrugged.

Rose saluted them. "See you in hell." She said, and dashed off to the right, towards the centre of the warehouse, where the Sontarans were having an argument about who was to blame for her being allowed to just waltz in.

"Yeah, sorry about that," She said casually. Weapons swung towards her, and she raised her hands. "Now, you could just shoot me. But then you won't hear my offer, and that would suck for you. So give me a minute, yeah?"

"We are Sontarans. We will defeat you. Sontar, ha!"

"SONTAR-HA!"

"Right, that's lovely. But I'm telling you, and you should listen, or you might want to, if I were you, that is, I would listen. Because just this once, I'm going to give you a chance. Leave Earth and never come back, or I'll destroy you all."

"Who are you to make such promises?"

"I'm the Doctor's granddaughter." She said firmly, then frowned. "Oh, God, I'm never saying that again. _I_ am a half-human, half-Time Lord, the only one in existence. So I'm as brilliant, volatile, stubborn, and violent. Now leave, or we all get blown up."

"Sensors show high grade directional explosives set up around the warehouse," One of the Sontarans said.

Rosabel draped an arm around the rounded shoulders of the nearest Sontaran, who lowered his helmet to snarl at her.

"You will die with us, half-blood."

"Oh, yes I will. Isn't this quite the experiment? How far can I go, without actually dying? But it doesn't matter, because while we're chit-chatting, my friends have returned to Torchwood. So, pretty much—_run_. Run away, and don't come back."

"Never!"

She sighed—it was such a waste of life—and then she unclipped her hair and fired the gun at the ceiling.

-.-.-**The Hub**-.-.-

Hunter frowned at the screen. There was the signal, loud and clear, but Rosabel was still inside. Marissa and Jack leaned over his shoulders. "Don't do it," Marissa said.

"You have to do it," Jack argued.

He pressed a button on the computer and leaned back. "Rosabel left a message for you two."

"Hello, Dad. Hello, Marissa. I know you're sitting there confusing Hunter by bickering, but I think I should mention that if you're watching this, I am still alive, and I am still in authority. Don't boss Hunter around unless you know the entire plan, which I can assure you only one person knows, and that's me. I'll see you both very soon."

The screen went black, and Hunter pushed the detonation button.

"You've just killed her!" Marissa yelled.

"Look at the CCTV." Jack said gleefully. "Nothing happened—she's up to something."

Everyone crowded in around the screen to watch the unmoving warehouse. "What's the use of bombs if they don't explode?" Annabel grumbled.

"Is she triple bluffing them?" Beth said, sounding awed.

"I don't know," Hunter said honestly. "She's got some sort of plan."

On screen, Rosabel walked out of the warehouse double doors with her hands in her pockets and her hair loose, looking all for the world like she was just on a little stroll and not, say, blowing up an alien invasion force. The background was engulfed in flames as Rosabel stopped, grinned, and waved at the CCTV camera

Marissa squealed and threw her arms around Hunter's neck. Annabel and Elizabeth practically jumped Peter, clinging to him and laughing. Jack cheered and high-fived William and Anne, nearly bowling the much smaller two over.

Adrianne stumbled in just then, hair messy. "What'd I miss?"

Peter shook off everyone else and pulled her in to kiss her, only causing everyone to cheer even louder.

"Hello, Torchwood!" Rose's voice crackled over the comms system. "Someone call the Ood up and tell them to send out their best victory song—because we have _won_!"


End file.
